


Only You

by Seraphtrevs



Series: Only You [1]
Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Mind Games, Tacos, lalo is a sociopath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23050807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphtrevs/pseuds/Seraphtrevs
Summary: Ignacio was smart. Very smart. Lalo was sure he would figure out the right move. You should never turn your back on a predator. It doesn’t end well.A restless and bored Lalo invites Nacho to his home for dinner and games.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Series: Only You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658944
Comments: 20
Kudos: 104





	Only You

**Author's Note:**

> This skates around the edge of dub-con/non-con. No violence, just head games. Consider yourself warned!
> 
> And a huge thank you to [Rrismo/krokorobin on Tumblr](https://krokorobin.tumblr.com/) for creating [a stunning piece of art](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2665cfa56d3787af654aa01a7dd16d49/53864fd8e08810ae-84/s500x750/7e2718826c2914ab0e789634fa77cfc0fcc99c6b.png) to accompany the story, and for giving me permission to include it here! Cover is by me.

Lalo didn’t need to be here.

The matter was routine. A dealer had stepped out of line and needed to be disciplined. Nothing too important—it was the reason he had lieutenants, to take care of these issues. Surely he had better things to do.

Except he didn’t. The problem with Fring rattled around in his mind, but he couldn’t quite figure it out yet. The frustration left him restless. And so he was here, watching Varga teach some sorry punk a lesson.

The dilapidated crack den they found themselves in was in the middle of the desert. The heat was oppressive, gripping everyone there like a vise, squeezing them until they spilled over, sweat beading on their brows and soaking their shirts. A few old fans wheezed but offered little relief.

The punk pleaded. His pleas fell on deaf ears. One, two swift punches. A kick, another hit. And then it was done. Beautiful in its efficiency.

They went to the car after it was over—Lalo, Varga, and some low-level minion whose name he hadn’t bothered to learn. Varga drove, with Lalo riding shotgun and the minion in the back. Lalo’s fingers drummed on the glove compartment. Violence had a way of revving him up. Adrenaline danced in his veins, leaving him giddy and even more restless than before. Maybe it had been a bad idea to come along.

He shook his head and chuckled at himself. Of course it wasn’t. He never had bad ideas.

“That was well done, Varga,” he said. “Very efficient. We Salamancas have a—” He gestured with his hand as he thought of how to put it. “—a flare for the dramatic, you could say. But alas, it leaves such messes. Not ideal for day-to-day work.”

Varga’s jaw tensed. Not pleased with the compliment? Lalo frowned. “You don’t enjoy it, do you?”

Varga kept his eye on the road. “Not really, no.”

“Really? That surprises me. Most men who don't like it—they can’t do what you do. They cry, get sick. No one wants a confrontation, even drug dealing scum.” He laughed. “But no hesitation from you.”

“I make sure they understand the first time. Then I don’t have to go back.”

“A practical man. I like that.”

If not violence, what did he enjoy? Lalo let his gaze drift over Varga’s body. His well-toned arms glistened in the low light of the setting sun. The air conditioning was on full blast, but the heat of that old shack still clung to him. His tank top was wet with sweat, almost translucent. Lalo’s eyes drifted further down. Taut denim hugged his thighs. There was a smear of blood where he had wiped his hand after the final blow. It had been a good one. The punk had probably lost a tooth.

Lalo shifted in his seat and adjusted himself. He suddenly knew how to cure his restlessness.

“Drop him off,” Lalo said, gesturing with his thumb to the guy in the back. “And take me home.”

They dropped the minion off, and then headed for Lalo’s place—a house owned by his family. It was nice enough, although not quite as extravagant as he was used to. Varga pulled into the driveway.

Lalo turned to him and smiled. “Why don’t you come in,” he said. “Let me cook for you.”

Varga’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, flexing the muscles in his arms. Lalo could see him turning it over in his mind. He wanted to say no. But was that the smart thing to do? Varga was, if anything, smart.

Varga turned off the ignition. Lalo grinned. Very smart.

Lalo led Varga to the kitchen. The rest of the house might not have been exciting, but Lalo insisted on a good kitchen wherever he stayed. It was composed of stone, steel, and dark wood veneer. The countertops gleamed in the bright lights. Pans and skillets hung from a rack above the kitchen island, like corpses on a gallows.

He opened the fridge. “So! What are you in the mood for, eh?”

Varga slid up to the breakfast bar and took a seat on a stool. He moved with the deliberation of a man in a tiger’s den. One false move and he’d find himself in the beast’s jaws. Lalo licked his lips. “Tacos,” he decided. “Everyone loves tacos.”

Lalo gathered the ingredients and retrieved a knife and cutting board. Varga’s gaze was like a caress on his skin. Such careful attention. He liked it when people paid attention to him. Not cowering in fear—no, that was its own pleasure, but he preferred this. To be seen. Admired.

Well, maybe _admired_ was pushing it. But what else could you feel for a dangerous creature if not admiration? It was either that or fear, and Varga was not afraid. Cautious, yes. But not afraid. That pleased him.

“Now, the key to a good taco is simplicity,” he said. He tossed an onion into the air and caught it. “Meat, onion, tomato, salsa—and of course, warm corn tortillas. Can you warm the tortillas for me? They’re over there.” He gestured with his knife to the counter and then gestured to the pan rack. “And a skillet is there.”

Varga slinked away from the breakfast bar, his attention never wavering. He lifted his arm to take a skillet, displaying the taut muscle, and brought it to the stove.

Lalo smacked himself lightly on his forehead. “Ah, we’re forgetting hygiene! Come, wash your hands first.”

Lalo started the tap and poured soap into his own hands. He waited for the water to get hot—he liked it hot. Slowly, Varga approached him, until they were side by side. His thigh brushed against Lalo’s. Lalo sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“Here,” he said, holding out the soap. “Open your hands.”

Varga did. His hands really were dirty, and rough. One knuckle had a cut. “But you’re hurt!”

Varga followed his gaze. “It’s nothing.”

Lalo took his hand and ran his finger over it. “It’s an open wound. You need a bandage.” He looked down further, to his thigh. “And what’s this?” He brushed the bloodstain. “More blood? Yours?”

Varga frowned. “I don’t think so.”

Lalo tutted. “I can’t have this in my kitchen. Too unhygienic. No, you must go shower, and change out of that clothing.”

Varga blinked. “What?”

He’d surprised him! Lalo chuckled. “You heard me. Look at you. Bloody—” He ran a hand over Varga’s toned arm. “—Sweaty. Dirty. I won’t have it.”

Varga swallowed. “I don’t have a change of clothes.”

“You can wear my bathrobe. It’s hanging by the shower.” He made a shooing motion. “Now, off you go. Bathroom is upstairs. You’ll like my showerhead. It massages.”

One blink, two. Would Varga defy him? That would be interesting, but he hoped not. He wanted Varga to have fun tonight, too.

Slowly, Varga turned and headed up the stairs. Lalo whistled as he chopped the tomatoes and onions. Next came the meat. It sizzled when it hit the pan. He inhaled, breathing in the smell. Charred flesh. Delicious.

Lalo was just about finished when Varga crept downstairs, barefoot and wrapped in Lalo’s nicest robe. It was too long for him. Adorable.

Lalo made a plate and set it on the bar. “Perfect timing! Nice and hot, just for you.” Lalo put an elbow on the bar and rested his chin on his hand.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Varga asked.

Lalo bared his teeth. “Starving.” He motioned. “Go on. Try it.”

Varga didn’t move. Lalo frowned—why wasn’t he eating? It took him a moment to figure it out. “Do you think I’m trying to poison you?”

Varga kept his expression neutral—too neutral. Lalo was right. He laughed. “Oh Varga—you are cautious, and I like that. But there is a difference between caution and paranoia.” He picked up one of the tacos. “Now, why would I poison you, hm? If I wanted to kill you, I could just shoot you. Or carve you up. Drown you, even. But poison? No. That’s cowardly.”

Lalo brought the taco to his mouth and bit into it. His eyes fluttered shut. Perfectly spiced. Another bite and it was gone. “Why would I want to kill you, anyway? I want to be your friend.” He picked up the other taco. “And feed you tacos.” He held it out.

Varga could have eaten it straight from his hand. Lalo would have liked that. Instead, he took it from him. But he did eat it, and that was a victory.

“Another?” he asked when he was done. Varga nodded.

Lalo made up some more, and a plate for himself. He really was hungry.

“You know,” Lalo said between bites, “when I cook for people, they usually say, ‘oh Lalo, you are the best cook I have ever met.’ Sometimes, they say it even before they’ve tasted my food! It makes me doubt their sincerity. But you, Varga—I trust you. What do you think of my cooking?”

Varga finished eating before he answered. “I think that you don’t need anyone to tell you how good your cooking is.”

Lalo laughed, delighted. “I think we will be very good friends. Can I call you Ignacio?”

Varga—no, Ignacio—licked his finger. “It’s my name, isn’t it?” Almost playful. Had he determined the danger had passed? Ignacio was smart. Surely he knew better.

Lalo clapped his hands. “Drinks. Beer, I think—no, tequila. I have just the thing.” He fetched a bottle and shot glasses. “Now this, you will like,” he said as he poured two shots. “It has hints of vanilla and oak, with a nice, creamy finish.” He picked one up. “Cheers.”

Ignacio hesitated, but only briefly. He swallowed it down, his throat bobbing.

“Good, right?” He filled his glass again. “Have another.”

They both drank. Some of the tension eased from Ignacio’s strong shoulders as the alcohol took effect. Ignacio turned the empty shot glass over in his hand. He’d put a Band-Aid on, as instructed. What a good boy.

Ignacio caught him staring and met his gaze. He had such pretty eyelashes. “Why am I naked in your kitchen, eating tacos and drinking tequila?”

Lalo hid a smile behind his hand. To the point, as usual. “Have you ever had your cock sucked by a man?”

Ignacio put the shot glass down, so gently that it didn’t make a sound. “No,” he said quietly, his gaze cast downward.

He didn’t look up when Lalo ran a hand along the lapel of the bathrobe. “Soft, isn’t it?” Lalo said, his voice low now—a purr. “Even a hard man can appreciate a little softness, no?”

Ignacio shut his eyes and let out a sigh—soft, like the bathrobe. Lalo put his hand under the robe, pressing it against his hot skin. Nothing soft about the muscles that rippled under his touch, though. He brushed a thumb over his nipple. Ignacio let out a shuddering breath, very close to a moan.

Lalo’s cock strained under his belt buckle, hard enough to be painful now. He got off his stool and pulled Ignacio with him. He left him standing there, swaying and breathing hard. Not drunk—not after only a couple shots. Something else moved him. Fear? Desire? Both?

Lalo’s mouth watered. He swooped in, pressing his lips to Ignacio’s neck and licking. Salt and soap, with something tangy underneath.

He grabbed ahold of the bathrobe tie and pulled it, opening Ignacio like a present. Ignacio’s hand darted to his groin to cover himself, but Lalo batted it away. “I want to see you, Ignacio,” he said as he slipped the robe off his shoulders. It fell to the floor, pooling around his feet.

Lalo sucked in a breath. He was perfect—all lean angles and taut muscles. Lalo pressed a hand to a scar on his side. “You took a bullet in service of my family, yes?”

Ignacio screwed his eyes shut and nodded.

Lalo pressed his lips to his ear. “Such loyalty. Such bravery.” He gave the earlobe a nip before dropping to his knees.

He kissed the scar first, lapping at it with his tongue. Ignacio shivered, but did not pull away. One last kiss and it was on to the main course. His cock wasn’t quite hard yet, but it was showing interest.

Lalo sucked it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head. It took a few minutes to coax him to full hardness, but the effort was worth it. He pulled back to survey his work. “You have a beautiful cock, Ignacio,” he said.

Ignacio didn’t say anything. He couldn’t—he’d stuffed part of a fist into his mouth, biting on his knuckles, his eyes still shut.

Lalo stood and pulled Ignacio’s fist away. “There’s no one here,” he said. “No need to keep quiet. I want to hear you.” He put a finger under Ignacio’s chin and tilted it upward. “Look at me.”

Ignacio’s eyes blinked open. He looked so lost. But how could he be lost, when Lalo had found him? He gave Ignacio a gentle push. “Upstairs.”

Ignacio obeyed. Lalo trailed after him, enjoying the sight of his tight ass as he climbed the stairs. He did not hesitate—at least, not until they got to Lalo’s bedroom. “Wait—”

Lalo gathered him in his arms. He was trembling, like a heroine in a romance novel. “What is it?”

Ignacio shook his head. “I don’t—I’ve never—”

Lalo tried not to smile. He’d shaken the unshakable Ignacio. “I understand.” He gave him a brief kiss and released him. “You can go.”

Ignacio blinked. “Go?”

“If you don’t want to be here, then you should go. Do you take me for some kind of monster?”

Ignacio looked so confused—it was adorable.

“Of course,” Lalo continued, scratching his neck, “my feelings will be hurt. But if you’ve changed your mind, I won’t stop you.”

Their gazes met. Ignacio was smart. Very smart. Lalo was sure he would figure out the right move. You should never turn your back on a predator. It doesn’t end well.

Ignacio shut his eyes again, and swallowed. He took a shaky step forward, back into his arms. His head tilted, ready for a kiss.

How sweet. Lalo obliged his brave, loyal, and smart Ignacio, and took him to bed.

Lalo kicked off his shoes, took off his belt and undid the button of his fly to relieve the pressure, but did not otherwise undress. He lay Ignacio out on his white bedspread, admiring him. Beautiful. His erection had wilted, but Lalo could fix that.

He kissed Ignacio’s lips once more before trailing his mouth down his body, stopping to lick and nip every now and then. When he reached his cock, it had plumped again. Lalo kissed the head, drew it between his lips. With one hand he rolled his balls as he took the whole length into his mouth.

Ignacio moaned. Lalo pulled back to look up—he’d thrown his arm over his eyes as his chest heaved. He would prefer that Ignacio watch, but he was overwhelmed, no doubt. Undone, even. There would be time for different games, later.

Lalo returned to his work. Ignacio’s cock was as hard as his now. He relished the feel of it his mouth, the salty, bitter taste against his tongue. Lalo enjoyed the company of both men and women, but there was something special about sucking a cock. It must be his oral fixation.

Ignacio’s moans came closer together, became higher in pitch. His hips rocked as Lalo sucked him, outside of his control. He was close. Lalo didn’t tease—he threw himself into it, employing every trick he knew to wring the pleasure out of him.

It didn’t take long. Ignacio put his hands on Lalo’s shoulders. “Wait—I’m going to—”

So polite! But hadn’t Lalo told him he was hungry? He increased his pace, up and down, faster and faster, and then Ignacio cried out. His hips thrust upward and he stiffened and came, pulsing onto Lalo’s tongue and down his throat.

Lalo didn’t release him until he’d lapped up every drop of come. He let him go with a happy sigh and licked his lips. Delicious.

He pulled himself up until he was facing Ignacio, whose eyes were still closed. Tears streaked his face. Poor, brave Ignacio in the tiger’s den. He licked the tears away, savoring the taste, and then pressed their lips together and licked his way inside. To his delight, Ignacio kissed him back—sleepily, almost sweetly. He could kiss him like this for hours.

Well, he could if it weren’t for his raging erection, which could no longer be ignored. A few swift movements and his clothes were off. He took his aching cock in his hand.

His Sleeping Beauty opened his eyes. A quick glance down, and his breath hitched at what he saw. “What do you want?” he asked.

A good question. Lalo kissed him while he thought. “Just look at me,” he said at last.

Ignacio obeyed, meeting his gaze. Lalo stroked himself, not bothering to draw it out. He’d had his fun—now he needed release. With a groan, he came, shooting his seed all over Ignacio’s stomach.

Lalo hummed lazily and stretched like a cat. Wonderful tingles rushed up and down his body. God, he'd needed this. He congratulated himself on his good idea. “You sure that was your first time with a man?” he teased. “There isn’t someone out there I should be jealous of, is there?”

“No,” Ignacio said. His gaze fluttered downward. “Only you.”

Lalo rewarded that with a kiss. His fingers trailed in the mess on Ignacio’s stomach. He chuckled. “You’re going to need another shower.”

“Then I can go?” His voice quivered.

Lalo kissed him. “Yes, amorcito. Then you can go.”

While Ignacio showered again, Lalo looked around for some clean clothes for him. Alas, he didn’t think that his clothes would fit well, so Ignacio would just have to wear his dirty ones. If he stayed the night, Lalo could wash them. But Ignacio didn’t want to stay the night, and he’d been so good. Lalo would let him have his way.

There would be other nights. He would make sure of it.

***

Nacho shivered in the cold, night air. The thing about deserts was that the day could be blazing hot, but the night would be freezing cold. He should have gone home for a jacket, but he was running late already. He almost didn’t make it.

Headlights shone on the horizon, drawing closer. Fring and his man stepped out of the car and into the night. Nacho’s skin crawled. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Fring about this. But Fring owned him. He wasn’t about to forget that.

“Do you have anything to report?” Fring asked. His voice was as cold as the night air. Not warm. Not like—

“No,” he said. “Business is quiet right now.”

“But there’s something else.” It wasn’t a question.

Nacho swallowed. “Yeah. It’s about Lalo.”

Fring raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You told me to get close.” Nacho laughed humorlessly. “Well, I’m really fucking close now.”

“What does that mean?”

“He sucked my dick.”

Silence. “Is this some kind of joke? I’m afraid, Mr. Varga, that my sense of humor is somewhat lacking.”

“It’s not a joke. We went on a house call, and afterward, he took me back to his place, fed me tacos, and sucked my dick.” Nacho rubbed his neck. “I don’t know why. It was like some weird game to him.”

More silence. “The Salamancas do love their games,” he said at last. “I suggest you keep playing.”

Nacho snorted. Like he had a choice. The thing was, it wasn’t even in the top ten most fucked up things that had happened to him in the past year.

Fring moved forward, a few steps closer. “Remember who you belong to,” he said.

“You,” Nacho said. “I know. Trust me.”

Lalo wouldn’t like that, Nacho thought as he drove away. The idea of him belonging to another man. Not that Fring had ever laid a hand on him. In fact, it had never even occurred to Nacho that he could be wanted in that way by these men—these monsters who played so carelessly with people’s lives.

Could he play them off each other..? Nacho shook his head. Now that would be a truly dangerous game, and he was only a pawn.

But if he couldn’t quit the game, then he might as well play to win.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will be Nacho's POV, I think. Would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> ETA - I decided to make this a series of stories. Next in the series - "Power Play."


End file.
